


Time Immaterial

by WizardsGirl



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: (Go read them plz they are gorgeous), 17th Century, 18th Century, 21st Century Girl Reborn into 18th Century, Aerial Corps, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And I may be projecting?, And I was like "Lol wait.", And rage, Angst, BC Elenore is from 21st n is now in the 18th, Bamf Main Character, Battle, Because Google Translate will betray me, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blatant Disregard for the Government, Brittain take a chill pill, But then again he's French, Crossdressing, Culture Shock, Cute Dragons, Death, Did y'all know that the Napoleon war was legit 20 years after the American Revolution?, Disassociation, Dysphoria, Elenore has NO FUCKS to give about England TBH, Elenore only cares about her Dragon, Elenore takes no shit, Familial bonding, Families of Choice, Feminist Themes, Flirty Napoleon, Fluff and Angst, God I would miss internet, Hidden Gender, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, I only realized this bc I was listening to Hamilton, I'm writing it all in English, Inspired by WerewolvesAreReal, Just all of their Temeraire fics, Languages and Linguistics, Logic, Logical Thinking, Love, Maybe - Freeform, Military, More tags to be added, Multi, Music, OC-centric, Or the world in general, Original Character - Freeform, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Bigotry, Period Typical Prejudice, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pretending to be a different Gender, Psychological Trauma, Rebirth, Seditious Character, Slavery, Slaves, Songs, Sporadic changes to speech/thoughts, Strong Female Characters, Thats also a canon thing, Trauma, Traumatic Deaths, Unconventional Families, Violence, War, You too france, adoration, all of them - Freeform, and disbelief, and plumbing, and what equality we have, because its a war, ethics and morals, fuck that, i didn't, it always does, lyrics, no fucks given, there will be tears, traumatic injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardsGirl/pseuds/WizardsGirl
Summary: The most difficult thing, most people would say, about being reborn is the knowledge that your loved ones are all out of your reach, or that you have died, or that you are a baby once more. I disagree. You want to know the most galling thing about being reborn?You have absolutely no control over anything.(OC-Centric Rebirth fic because I cannot find a SINGLE ONE in this fandom so yeah)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WerewolvesAreReal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/gifts).

> LISTEN okay!  
I discovered the fantastic WerewolvesAreReal on accident. I needed them in my life.  
Temeraire is Life.  
Fight me.

** Time Immaterial **

**Prologue**

The most difficult thing, most people would say, about being reborn is the knowledge that your loved ones are all out of your reach, or that you have died, or that you are a baby once more. I disagree. You want to know the most _galling_ thing about being reborn?

You have _absolutely_ no control over _anything_.

Not just because you are suddenly a baby, but you _have no choice_ in the matter. You are not _asked_ if you _want_ to be reborn, or to _whom_ or _where_ or _when_. You are not asked if you'd like a gender or family line or even _universe_. You are not asked if you even want to be human!

(I would have liked to be a dog, if given a choice)

As it is, you lose your autonomy with your death, until the point your new body 'wakes up', at some point after the gory, horrifying moment of your birth. For me, I regained my full memories gradually between eight and nine months old. I clearly remember the moment it all _clicked._ I was being changed by my nanny, Florence, as she chatted with one of the maids about 'Lord Morris' and his recovery since the death of his wife.

"And this poor dear," Florence sighed deeply, stroking a hand over my head as I stared at her, taking in her period-drama dress with sleepy, slow realization. "A pity that she will never meet Lady Winifred."

"Let us hope that she has been blessed with the late Lady's fortitude, then," the maid declared, shuffling past to gather the spare linens for washing. "Although, I have heard word that his Grace has been already considering matches for her future," she added, in the tone of sly, smugness that all people with juicy gossip seemed to have. Florence gasped, startled, even as she slipped my tiny, useless body into a new dress.

"Already? But, little Elenore is not even a year!" She exclaimed, clearly upset; the maid bobbed her head seriously.

"Apparently Lord Harris of Leeds youngest son just turned 4 years this past week," the maid declared easily; Florence wrinkled her nose in distaste before sighing.

"Well, far be it for the likes of me to despair on the choices of His Grace," my Nanny declared, lifting me from the table to cradle me to her chest. "Still, it is disquieting that Lord Morris would start looking so soon," she murmured. "He has yet to even greet his daughter himself." As the two older women murmured back and forth about propriety versus grief, I could only stare blankly behind them as we wandered down a clearly old-money hall and consider everything that was happening.

I had been reborn. In what appeared to be Victorian-esque England. To a 'Lord' who was already planning to sell me to the highest bidder.

..._Yeah_, how about _no_.

And so, began my life as Elenore Morris, soon-to-be thorn in the side of any 'proper' Englishmen.

'Murica, _bitches_.

**}**

**~()->**

**}**

I meet my Father for the first time at the age of three, after I have once again managed to slip away from the women who are trying to teach me how to embroider, when in reality they just want to gossip about the Lords and Ladies, which is _boring_. I had already figured out how to embroider and sew and knit and everything _else_ a 'girl of my status ought to know'. And I have already been hearing the whispers and wonderings about my apparent 'intelligence' but, seriously, when you're bored out your mind and you're from a time when constant and easy ways to entertain yourself are readily available...

The late seventeen-hundreds are so fucking _dull_, ugh.

"Elenore," my Father greeted me mildly, as I peered up at him from my French book. I was struggling to re-learn the language, since my vague memories of History warned me that I'd probably need it within the next decade or so, but it was slow going since none of the maids knew it and I wasn't allowed to be alone with any of the manservants because it was, apparently, _inappropriate_.

"...Father," I greeted back, peering at the form of Lord Laurence Morris over my book of poetry. I had gotten his nose and mouth, I noted, and a darker shade of his brown hair, although mine was curlier. His eyes, however, were brown and mine were a dark blue that must have been my mothers. I had also gotten a bit of his jaw, I noted as I slipped by bookmark into place in my book, which explained my oddly square face.

I'd been informed that I would be 'quite handsome' when I get older, which just means to me that I won't be getting too many proposals for anything but this man's money or lands.

Charming.

"Why are you not with your minders," Father asked, well, _stated_ really, since his bland, cool voice was _really_ lacking in any sort of inflection. I stared at him for a long second, before blinking.

"I have already learned how to embroider, sew, knit, and other such womanly things," I informed him simply. "I find them all deeply unsatisfying, and would much rather learn through the written word than by sitting for untold hours amongst the help as they gossip and discuss matters I have no interest in." I spoke clearly and carefully, because even a single word that was deemed 'improper' would see me with stinging knuckles and a stern reprimand and, honestly, it wasn't worth the hassle. Still, as we stared silently at one another, I forced back the urge to duck my head and lower my eyes.

I was raised in a world where telling a woman she was better 'seen not heard' was enough to get every female in your family and friends-circle to turn on you with viciousness, where meeting someone's eyes was a sign of attentiveness and respect. Like _hell_ I was going to abandon that for the sake of stupid 'propriety'. Despite how 'proper' and 'honorable' the people of this Period claimed they were, they were nothing but barbaric savages compared to the people of the twenty-first century.

Women were chattel, slaves were the norm, and this foreign thought that some stranger who happened to be 'royal' had any right to my loyalty was, all together _and_ separately, completely _disgusting_ to me.

"You will return to your minders immediately." Father finally informed me, turning his back. "Take the book if you wish, but I will not have you gallivanting off in some fit of childish whimsy. You are the heiress of the Morris line. You will learn to act like it."

"...Yes, Father," I replied, coolly.

When I returned to Florence and the other maids, I had four books with me, two French books, one English, and a thin book in Spanish that I _think_ might have been the condensed version of some Trade Treaty with England. And, as the servants continued their gossip and chatter, I continued to teach myself.

This would be the standard for the next six years.

**}**

**~()->**

**}**

I was nearly ten, the first time I was able to sneak out of the manor. I had managed to get my hands on some servant's clothes so I could actually wear _literal pants, thank fuck_, and a dirty cap and shirt hid my long hair and slender torso well enough. Father was out and in London for the next few days, and I'd gotten the servants used to me disappearing, usually with a book or three, over the last few years, to the point where I sincerely doubted they would even notice until I didn't show for dinner, especially as I'd just eaten lunch. We had a... Mutual Understanding, as it were. They knew I despised all the things my Father ordered me to learn, that I was far smarter and far better learned than I had any right to be, really. And they left me to my own devices when they could, the maids exchanging pitying looks and the manservants looking awkward and uncomfortable with the whole thing.

Thus, I was able to escape the gilded cage my Father had locked me in, wings thought to be clipped when, in actuality, they had merely been bound. And, slipping through the woods of the Morris Estate here in Folkestone, so close to the coast that I could _taste_ the salt in the air, I couldn't help but grin in delight. The woods weren't the thick trees and bushes of my own time, the rocky cliffs and near-by sea leading to thinner and frailer foliage, but it was still a _forest_. And the Morris Estate was close enough to the cliffs that, within an hour of quick-footed wandering, I'd manage to find and scramble along a good length of one.

The stone, I noted, while flaky and salt-damaged from the winds, was unusually hot in certain areas. It was fascinating, and meant that there might have been some sort of underground hot spring or other natural heat source within the cliffs. This, of course, had to be investigated. Thoroughly. And immediately.

Grinning wildly as I recklessly scrambled to-and-fro along the cliffside, slipping and sliding on flaky stone and moss as I struggled to free-climb my way down. It was something I'd only really seen on YouTube and some documentaries, back in my time, but it came relatively easily to me here, my tiny hands easily locating footholds in the cliff-face that larger hands or tools would have missed. And a goat-path even gave me a steady, if thin, path almost all the way down to the rock-studded beach.

It was on this path, I was gleeful to discover, that led me to a cave opening near the base, big enough for an SUV to drive into, and hidden at an angle by protruding stone and a cracked boulder. I could feel the heat wafting out of it from my perch on the goat path.

"Awesome," I breathed giddily, before I scrambled carefully down, swinging myself into the opening with a grunt of effort. It would be easier to climb out, I noted idly as I dusted my scratched, dirty hands off on my stolen trousers. The broken bolder was situated that I could climb up it easier from in here and jump up onto the path, but jumping back from path to boulder would be hard thanks to the angle. Still, it was nice to know for future adventures.

"Let's see what I've got here," I declared, grinning at the faint echo the cave gave. Thin beams of light from various cracks and vent-like tunnels gave me enough light to see dimly in the cave, and I was quickly soaked from the humidity and heat, but I hadn't smelled Sulphur yet so the likelihood of choking to death on some gas was greatly lowered. I idly made plans to return with a lantern tomorrow, when I finally reached what seemed like the main chamber of the cave.

Thin beams of light showed me a large enough cavern with a small, boiling pool of water puddling out from the center of the room, barely five feet in diameter.

It also showed me the massive form of what was, without a doubt, a dragon egg.

"...What the fuck," I asked, staring blankly at the egg. I'd discovered, and accepted, that dragons were a major part of this life years ago. I had yet to actually _see_ one, of course, but that was beside the point. But there was _reading_ about dragons that were dozens of tons in weight and bigger than mansions, and then there was finding an egg that was almost _six feet tall_.

It was a handsome thing, I noted blankly. Mostly black with splotches of gold and dark purple, with a slightly knobby texture to it when I tentatively set a hand against it. From my studies, I vaguely knew that a dragon egg hardened the closer to hatching it was. This egg was _firm_ but not _hard_. It was warm and soft-textured beyond the knobbiness.

And it was a fucking _dragon egg_.

"Oh," I breathed, a slow, wicked smile curling my lips. "Oh, you are _gorgeous_." And, suddenly, my prospects for the future no longer involved marrying the lordling my Father wanted me to. Not at all.

Settling carefully on the hot ground beside the egg, I took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"My name is Elenore Morris, and I am to be ten years old in two weeks..."


	2. Chapter One

**Time Immaterial**

**Chapter One**

My tenth birthday came and went and, ironically enough, the egg did _not_ hatch on said day. It grew harder slowly, by miniscule degrees, as months went swiftly by, but it didn't otherwise change. I spent hours at a time with the egg, reading to it in English and French and Spanish, telling it that we would learn Russian and Mandarin and Japanese and Cantonese and dozens of languages together.

"So no one will ever be able to talk around us without us knowing," I informed the egg affectionately. I'd told it the date (June 14th, 1796) and that I could tell that there was going to be war soon, and that, if the egg proved to be one of the bigger dragons, that the Government would expect us to fight for them.

"It's completely up to you, love," I assured the egg frequently. "If you want to fight, we'll fight! If you want to travel the world, we'll travel! Hell, if nothing else, we could fight for England to see what it's like, then run away to a different, better country the moment we can. It's not like I actually hold loyalty for this island. And, if you don't want to fight until later, there will _always_ be another War. Hell, the War with America only ended in 1783. Thirteen years so far, and it looks like France is going to start something with, well, _everyone_ in the next decade or less... There's _always_ another war..."

I spent at least two hours a day with my Egg, reading to it or just talking or singing it what songs I remember from my world that I felt I could safely sing here. I tended to sing a lot, since songs came easier than stories when I couldn't sneak any books out with me.

"If you hatch when I'm not here," I told the egg quietly, "you will have to be quite sly and sneaky to get yourself food. I have started slipping some fish from Old Man Gordan's hold to practice for when I need to get you something, but I'm pretty sure he knows it's me, considering I put the fish back ten minutes later every time so he won't come after me for thievery. If I am asked, I will tell him it was an experiment I read in one of my Spanish books. He _hates_ the Spaniards for some reason, so he will no doubt completely forget to ask _why_ and instead bluster about the _who_. Prejudice is stupid and makes no sense to me, even though I know I am often biased..."

Summer turned to fall, which turned to winter, then spring and summer again. And, in this time, the servants grew more and more accustomed to my disappearances, to the point they no longer bothered to ask. A few of the manservants had tried, at one point or another, to follow me, but they were all unaccustomed to long walks and heavy climbing. My muscles grew steadily from all the busywork, until I filled my stolen clothes like a proper boy would. I also began carrying a bag with me to the cave, filled with books and snacks for the times I spent there, so that I didn't have to leave as often.

It was, in all, a wonderfully spent venture, caring for my egg, my freedom dragon. I had asked it what sort of name it would like, if it had a preferred language it wanted. I told it that it could choose its own name, when it hatched, or I could name it something, but that it was always its choice.

"You are a living, breathing, _sentient_ creature," I told the Egg fiercely, softly, stroking its hard, bumpy shell. "And no one has _any right_ to tell you otherwise. You are no horse or dog or cat. You are capable of speech and thus, more than capable of speaking for yourself. Never let anyone tell you that your opinion does not matter, dear one, especially if their argument for such a lie is that you are a dragon. You are _alive_. That is more than enough of a reason to be allowed to make your own choices, although I would prefer you make them while fully informed..."

Time passed like this, and still, my Egg hardened slowly.

I couldn't _wait_ to meet them.

**}**

**~()->**

**}**

My eleventh birthday saw my Father beginning to make noise about meeting my betrothed. I politely declined as I frankly didn't wish to meet one Robert Harris because I had no notion of actually marrying him, but I didn't tell my Father that. I simply told him that I didn't wish to distract my Betrothed from his studies as, with the unfortunate demise of his eldest brother, he was no doubt attempting to fill the holes in his education to better take over his family's business. My Father accepted this, and Florence commended me on my empathy for my 'future husband'.

I didn't really care, of course, because as soon as my Egg hatched, we would be leaving. Well, after my Hatchling grew a little, just in case. I had been ferreting money and supplies into the cave, as well as some spare clothes. I'd managed to get my hands on some leather that was used for horses, broken bridals and such, that I was carefully making into a mess of strips that could be buckled or tied together.

"I, personally, don't care if you wear it or not, sweetling," I informed my Egg as I carefully laid the different lengths of thick leather out. "But the Government is far more likely to order you shot if you're found without one, so appearances must be kept. The laws regarding dragons, sweetling, are completely _ridiculous_, I swear," I grumbled, reaching down to re-arrange the leathers so that they were in order from longest to shortest. "From what I've read, though, most countries have ridiculous laws for their dragons. China doesn't, but they also treat their dragons like _sentient beings_ and expect them to behave and follow the laws like everyone else. Most other civilized countries treat their dragons like _beasts_." I huffed, scowling as I leaned back from the leathers to settle against the hard shell.

"Human beings will never cease to frustrate and irritate me," I informed my Egg tiredly. "We'll go on and on about our supposed superiority, but then we turn around and our mental capacities seem to just... _Disintegrate_. We demand respect and honor and chivalry, and then disregard those whenever it serves our purpose. And, God help you if you're _different_, if you look or think or speak or believe _different_." I huffed, shoulders slumping.

"...I wish the world was different. I wish _people_ were different. I just don't understand why it's so hard for people to just... _Try_." I sighed, shaking my head with a disheartened chuckle, leaning my head back against my Egg and closing my eyes. "Well, you'll see for yourself when you come out, love. The world is a wonderful, horrible, beautifully ugly place, and we are both blessed and cursed enough to live in it." Bundling up the leathers, I set them off to the side on a bit of sail cloth I'd found on the beach near the docks, pressed a kiss to the shell, and said my goodnights.

My Egg would, of course, choose to hatch that very night while I was gone, because the next day I entered the cave to find naught but shells and slimy footsteps leading outwards. Blinking, excitement and worry warred in my chest as I quickly darted around the cave, gathering the leathers and the buckles and setting my latest bagful of books and goods off to the side, before settling in to wait.

Not that it was long before I started to nervously pace, my anxiety rising as I did so, humming tunes to myself as I moved and desperately went over various names I'd picked out, just in case. I was absently singing what I remembered of Alec Benjamin's 'The Knife in My Back' as I frantically triple-checked everything I could think of.

"_Pull your knife out of my back,_

_Your blood runs Black_

_I was just surprised _

_At how you turned on me so fast._

_I let you In_

_I held you Close_

_My blood flows like a River_

'_Cause I trusted you the most_

_And now I know it's over..."_

As I sang the pitched 'Woo's at the end of the chorus, a scrambling of claws on stone had my head shooting up.

"Elenore!" An enthusiastic girls voice cried, just as a dragonet, _my_ Dragonet, came scrambling through the cave and into the spring cavern. She was about my height at the shoulder and thrice as long, covered in glossy, soft black scales with almost camouflage-like splotches of dark gold and bruise purple in almost-stripes along her body. Speckles of white dotted her shoulders and rump from what I could see before I was knocked breathless as she tackled me firmly to the ground, making me wheeze as she yipped and pulled back, hovering over me with concern, dripping water and her large, pale gold eyes peering down through the dimly flickering lantern-light. There were four nub-like growths on her upper lids, and two much larger nubs on her temples, with even _larger_ ones behind those.

"Sorry!" she told me sheepishly. "I was just so happy to finally meet you! I hatched when the sun was still down, and I was _sooo_ hungry, so I did like you always said, and I snuck out and swam through the shallows until I was under the wood things in the water, the docks! And there are a lot of fish there, Elenore, and I ate a lot of them, but then the sun was rising and people were moving about, so I had to wait until I could hide under a boat going this way, so that no one would see me. I know you didn't want me to be seen, especially without my harness..."

"Sweetling," I breathed, reaching up and touching her face; my Dragonet happily nuzzled into my palms. Her body was hotter than I was expecting, and smooth as well-treated leather and soft as silk, despite the water still slipping down it. "You are, by far, the most beautiful thing I have yet to see in this life," I informed her reverently; my Dragonet cooed, leaning down so that she was laying on me, her head under my chin as her body fell half to the side, so that she didn't risk squishing me.

"I am so very glad to meet you," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes as I wrapped my arms tightly around her.

"I am the same," she whispered back, lifting a wing to curl over me like a living blanket. "So very, very glad..."

We stayed like that for ages, time passing unnoticed and uncaring, taking comfort and warmth from one another's mere presence. There was suddenly no rush, no anxiety, no worries to be had, because we were together, at last, and everything, every secret and hardship and whispered confession to an unspeaking shell, every ounce of unacknowledged loneliness was washed away in the heavy beat of my Dragonets heart, every fever-hot breath against my skin.

I felt, for the first time since my Rebirth, like I was home.

_I Was Home..._

**}**

**~()->**

**}**

"So, we're going to fight?" I asked my Dragonet as we sat in the cave opening two weeks after her Hatching, watching the sun set.

"When the War starts, I would like to, yes," she told me simply, easily. "I would like to grow for a bit, away from the rules and laws and expectations. I suspect I will get very big." She tapped her tail on the ground on my other side, the ridged, rounded armor-like growths along the final meter or so of it making dull, thumping sounds as she did. They had only started growing in the last two days, a compliment to her swiftly growing size. She was now the size of a large horse, height-wise, not quite a draft, but still more than large enough to carry a short eleven-year-old child.

"Have you decided what sort of name you'd like, Sweetling?" I asked her; she hummed lowly.

"I think I would like a name that stands for victory and battle," she informed me easily. "Something that people will hear and know. It is rather presumptuous, but I think I would like to be recognized by name alone, one day." I hummed, going over what names I'd compiled over the last year, before a warm smile curled my lips. The wind blew into our cave, ruffling my newly butchered hair, curls no longer than an inch or so ruffling about against my sweaty brow.

"Morrigan," I declared fondly; my Dragonet gave a low, humming trill, pleased.

"Where shall we go first, Nory?" she asked; I hummed.

"North," I decided, climbing to my feet and pulling my bag over my shoulder. I set my hand against the thick side of my companion's neck, glancing down at myself as I did so, taking in my boyish body, with my new haircut and lightly muscled limbs, and smiled easily, feeling freer than I had in a long time. With a carefully practice move, I climbed up Morrigan's side to perch on her back, quickly securing the straps and buckles I'd set to tie around my thighs and waist, securing myself firmly in place.

"Let's fly, my dear," I breathed as the night started to settle, the world filling with shadows and shades as no moon rose.

"Let's," Morrigan agreed, spreading her wings and taking us aloft.

Down below, as we flew to the north, towards thick forests and away from the larger cities and coastal towns, I looked back in time to see the distant form of my Father's Estate fading away, mind drifting to the letter I'd left on his desk after dinner. The letter apologizing for leaving but stating clearly my feelings on all but being sold as chattel to some man I didn't know. It drifted to the pile of hair and the pretty dress I'd abandoned in the cave. To the conversation I'd had with Morrigan about being referred to with male pronouns until I could no longer hide it.

I smiled, turning to face forward, feeling the wind ruffling my hair and clothes with each wing beat of my Dragonet as she flew over the trees, low enough to blend with the shadows. The golds and purple splotched on her black hide shimmered like oil slick as she moved. There was no point in looking back, not any longer.

My future, _our_ future, laid ahead.

And it waited for no man, woman, or dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-Da! I hope you liked it! Leave a comment, please!  
Also, I asked several of my friends whether Morrigan should be a girl or boy (all seven unanimously said girl) but, had she been a boy, her name would have been either Charon or Cerberus, and she was almost named Andarta, after the Brittonic goddess of Victory, Overcoming Enemies, and War.  
Look out for next chapter!


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew Morrigan! You can see her on my DA! (WizardsGirl on DA) Tell me what you think!! :)

**Time Immaterial**

**Chapter Two**

The thing about planning something out over a full year and actually implementing it are that little details escape your notice. Details like the fact that I had to abruptly switch from being diurnal to nocturnal. Things like growth spurts in both dragon and human. Things like forgetting to plan on how to feed _myself_ while I was distracted coming up with plans for Morrigan. Things like people noticing some young 'boy' appearing randomly to buy food and then disappearing again.

There were dozens of issues, from weather to minor injuries (a broken wrist does not a happy Elenore make) to hiding Morrigan's swiftly growing bulk, to dodging Naval and Aerial patrols both while flying at night. Dozens of little things that built up over those first six months. But _this_? This went beyond ridiculous and directly into dismaying.

"...You can breathe fire," I stated, blankly, staring at the burning bush Morrigan had accidently set ablaze with a sneeze. My large, fierce-looking companion hunched her shoulders, unhappily using her heavily armored tail to throw dirt over the cheerfully damning blaze.

"I'm sorry," she told me, sounding utterly miserable, and I immediately turned and set my hands on her muzzle, now thrice as wide as my shoulders and then some inches, her head longer than my height and her horns growing in handsomely, dark, tarnished yellow-colored things that twisted up and back like half-undone ram horns, the smaller horns in front of those growing forward like a bulls.

"Never apologize for something you cannot help, my sweet," I told her fiercely. "You are the way you are, and that is more than acceptable, that is _perfect_. You need not pretend to be anything but what you are, and I will love you _always_, no matter what circumstance we find ourselves in."

"Oh, but Nory," she whined, glancing at the smoking pile of dirt unhappily. "Now the Government will stop at _nothing_ to get us in their army or breeding pen. _No Government_ will allow us free reign if they know!" I shushed her, hugging her muzzle to me and ignoring the faintly sulphuric smell that I now noticed tainting her breath, reaching a hand up to rub gently at the hard, armored growth that had sprouted between her nostrils, which matched those on her tail and clumping along her spine, shoulders, and rump, like stones or turtle shells or rhino-horns.

"You let me worry about Governments and laws, my dear," I ordered her gently. "For now, we will simply work on hiding your flames until we can no longer. Much like your size, sweetling, it will inevitably come out. Like my gender or another war."

"There's always another war," Morrigan agreed, quoting me, and I chuckled. "You are sure you are not angry?"

"I could never be angry at you for something you cannot help, dear one," I told her. "There is a quote for things such as this. _The Pessimist complains about the wind; the Optimist expects it to change; the Realist adjusts their sails._ I am a realist, my dear, a pragmatist. I see no reason to throw a fit or collapse into tears just because something unexpected occurs. No, I will simply have to adjust our plans accordingly if we are to avoid the Aerial Corps for as long as possible."

"Alright, Nory," Morrigan agreed shyly. "I love you, you know." I melted, pressing a kiss to the large snout under me.

"And I love you, sweet one. In fact, I adore you." Morrigan sighed happily and, after a few minutes just spent cuddling, we returned to our steady movements and I started planning. Already we'd had some difficulty hiding Morrigan due to her sheer size, but if she blew fire instinctively, then our likelihood of discovery rose drastically. Like I told her, it was inevitable, but she didn't want to go to one of the Converts yet, and neither of us wanted her anywhere _near_ the Breeding Grounds. The only solution I could find was finding a cave in the cliffs leading out to sea, or perhaps slipping from England all together.

I didn't personally like either option. The cave would leave us trapped and easily caught or blackmailed if others discovered us, and, while I held no loyalty for this island, it was Known Territory. Its laws, its townships, its people. I _knew_ them by now, better than I knew any of the other countries beyond what I'd seen in books. The question, it seemed, was not 'which one do I choose' but 'which is the best for Morrigan'.

"...We'll head closer to the coast," I told her after a few minutes. "We'll huddle up in a cave for a few days, decide where to go from there. That way, if you feel like you're going to sneeze or cough or blow fire, sweetling, you can duck your head beneath the water and let it out safely." Immediately, Morrigan perked up.

"No more burning bushes, right, Nory?"

"That's right, sweetheart," I told her fondly. "No more burning bushes." She was happy enough with this plan, and so was I. Information needed to be gathered, decisions made, plans ironed out, items gathered. Time would tell if this would work out, but at least it was something we could do.

I could only hope that I wasn't dooming my sweetheart. She was my Home, my Freedom Dragon, my light and breath and heart. I would suffer a thousand times over for her happiness. I would wage War for her Freedom if it was needed.

It was scary, sometimes, how... Devoted, I'd become to Morrigan, but... She made the world seem Whole again. Made my head and heart balance out. She was my child, my friend, my mentor and confidant and _Home_. Since I woke up with my memories of before, since I realized the _depth_ of how _fucked I was_ in this timeline, I had felt like I was _hunted_. By my memories, my thoughts, the world at large. Like I couldn't stay in place, couldn't connect, couldn't focus on anything but the negatives of the world around me. Morrigan had given me _Hope_, when I found her Egg. Hope that I could escape from the birdcage my Father chained me to. Hope that I could stop feeling as disconnected to everything around me.

Hope that I could be more than just a broodmare for some lordling I never met.

And Hope, for any human being, was the most _dangerous_ motivator.

**}**

**~()->**

**}**

The cave that became our temporary home faced across the Channel towards France. It was in an area that was patrolled more often then I liked, but close enough to the water that I had to sleep on Morrigan's back during high tide. This meant she could slip right into the water without a splash at night in order to hunt, her large, heavily armored tail pulling her buoyant body down deep enough that the splashes of color on her black hide didn't show under moonlight.

This also allowed us to safely observe both ships and dragons, hidden from their view by shadows and stone, but able to see them well enough. We'd had to travel back south to avoid detection, but now we were way too close to Dover for my peace of mind. But Morrigan was happy, especially when we swam far out in the middle of the night, until land was just a darker shade of black against the night sky. We didn't do this too often, risk of being caught out and about by Aerial Patrols was too high, but on dark nights when the moon was new, or when clouds were thick, I let her indulge in the long swims.

We were doing just that when the next round of bullshit happenstance comes around.

We were far into the Channel, England's coast just a darker shade against the night sky, France equally as distant in the opposite direction. Morrigan was swimming in circles happily as I perched on the base of her skull, kneeling and holding onto her horns, smiling.

"Is that a boat?" Morrigan asked suddenly, perking up, and I stiffened, immediately squinting into the darkness in the direction she was looking. And, indeed, it looked like there was a ship, bigger than Morrigan by twice her length, but narrower than her wingspan. There were few lanterns on it, and those I could make out were dim, purposefully so. It was moving away from us, towards France, but even in the darkness I could tell that it was limping in the water, the sails damaged, and what looked like cannon damage to the side. It was obviously taking on water, if slowly.

"That is, indeed, a boat, my dear," I murmured, eying the ship. "And it looks like it has been through quite an ordeal..."

"Is it French?" She asked me, ducking her head a little lower in the water, and making me grimace as cold seawater immediately soaked through my pants. "I've never seen a French ship before! Oh, oh, Nory, can we help them, can we?!"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Morrigan," I said cautiously; she made a low, unhappy sound.

"But Nory! What if they sink?! Please can we help them, oh _please_?!" And, like wet paper, I folded at her pleading, shoulders slumping and a soft sigh escaping me.

"Alright, alright, you big silly," I muttered, grimacing as I eyed the ship. "Swim around to its front and pop your head up over the side to see if we can't locate the Captain."

"Okay!" Morrigan agreed eagerly, lunging through the water fast enough that I had to latch onto her horns to keep from being flung off. We cut through the water at speed, and, for the first time, I realized that Morrigan, despite her constant statements of avoidance when it came to the Corps, was hungry for _some sort_ of confrontation or action. Regret flashed through me as I looked down at my companion's head, the large, hard grown between her horns standing out like a rock on the smoothness of her skull. _Maybe this is for the best_, I thought as we silently slid pas the ship. _Likelihood of battle is next to zero, but Morrigan will feel like she's actually doing something proactive..._

We'd barely gotten in front of the ship before Morrigan was swinging her head, and me, high out of the water, her large foreclaws latching onto the ship and causing it to bob sharply under her weight.

"Bonjour!" Morrigan chirped as the few crew members on deck cried out. There was the sudden sound of blades being unsheathed and pistols being readied. I stood up on Morrigan's head and offered a wave.

"Bonjour," I called mildly. "We thought you would like some assistance in getting safely to France?" I asked, my French awkward and accented due to both my natural accent and the fact I'd learned from books, but clear. The entire crew, looking ragged and tired and smattered in rips, bloodstains, and soot, all stared at us.

"I can pull you to shore!" Morrigan offered happily. "Your ship doesn't seem too heavy, and I can rest on the beach afterwards! Do you have some rope we can use?" After a few moments longer of staring, an exhausted man with a nasty black eye and a limp came slowly forward.

"I am Captain Alain Bonheur of this post-ship, _La Delphine_," He informed us grimly. "We would appreciate your help, indeed, if you were to pull us to shore. I am afraid we are taking on far more water than any of us are comfortable with."

"Understood," I agreed, nodding; within minutes, I had secured provided ropes, usually used in docking, around Morrigan's neck and horns, and my Dragon was happily lunging through the water, straining gleefully against the pull of the boat.

"It is very fun," she informed me enthusiastically as she pulled. "As if it is a game, to see how much I can pull. I cannot wait until we are closer to land, so that I may try pulling it to the shore!" I chuckled and stroked a hand against her head, perched between her horns and peering up at the sky, taking in the still-pitch darkness, before glancing at the distant shadow-shape that was France.

"Don't strain yourself, my dear," I ordered her quietly. "There is quite a ways between us and our destination."

"I won't, Nory, I promise," she assured me happily, and continued. I could only sigh fondly as I continued to watch the sky and sea around us, keeping a look out for patrols.

It was going to be a _very_ long night.

**}**

**~()->**

**}**

The trip, much slower than _La Delphine_ would have managed had she been in peek condition, was still shorter than it would have been with Morrigan's steadfast pulling. I had been allowed up onto the ship after the first three hours, where my age and status as sole member of my Dragons 'crew' quickly became apparent to the men there. Thankfully, they were in far too dire and tired a state to make more of a fuss than trying to convince me to join France's version of the Aerial Corps, which I politely turned down as we were frankly avoiding _any_ Military posting until Morrigan was full grown.

"We do not wish to be pressured into either separation or service, you see," I informed Captain Bonheur and his First Lieutenant, Pierre Janvier. "Morrigan wants to grow to her full size or close to it before she decides, and I am far less likely to be separated from a fully-grown Dragon than a freshly-hatched one. As I have no family to notice nor care for any manipulation or insult on the Government's behalf against me, we decided that this was the best course of action."

"How have you been able to _feed_ a beast this big?" Lieutenant Janvier asked, bewildered as he peered over the bow to stare at my companion. I shrugged at him and offered a grin.

"Fishing," I told him cheerfully. "And, perhaps, a cow or sheep or three have wandered from their pastures, a few times or ten..." The Captain snorted, shaking his head tiredly as the overworked surgeon made his way over, hands steady even as he wiped them on his blood-stained apron.

"Lemieux and Mercier will both live," he informed the Captain grimly. "Giroux will lose his leg at the knee, Gagneux will lose his eye, and D'Aramitz will lose three fingers, but baring infection, they will live now that we are getting to land faster."

"Any further casualties, Doctor?" the Captain asked as Janvier slumped against the railings as I nibbled the bread that had been all but forced into my hands by one of the midshipmen upon realizing my age.

"...Proulx is unlikely to make it," he stated grimly. "And we have lost both Royer and Sauveterre to blood-loss. No one can find Thomas either. It's believed he may have slipped from the ship and drowned himself. And Victor's gut-wound has become infected."

"Fuck," Janvier cursed, the Captain closed his eyes and nodded at the ship-surgeon, dismissing him. I looked away quietly as the two Frenchmen grieved for their crewmates. After a few moments, I focused on finishing my bread before climbing off the boat, using the taut ropes to scramble back down to perch on Morrigan's head once more, where I would remain for another couple of hours. At first, we travelled in complete silence, but, well, it grew boring fast.

"_C'est un S.O.S._

_Je suis touche_

_Je Suis a terre,"_ Morrigan sang clearly, hitting the higher notes so I could work at the lower notes of the only French song from my time that I could clearly remember. Indila had a beautiful voice, I recalled, and a catchy enough tune that I'd remembered the flow enough to put words in, hopefully, the right places.

"_Entends-tu ma destresse,_

_Y'a t-il quelqu-un?_

_Je sens que_

_Je me perds..."_ Taking a deep breath as Morrigan's voice trailed away with the pre-dawn, I leaned against her larger set of horns tiredly, eyes shut.

"_J'al tout quitte,_

_Mais ne m'en veus pas._

_Fallair que je m'en aille,_

_Je n'etais plus moi!_

_Je suis tombee_

_Tellement bas..._

_Que plus personne_

_Ne me voit..._

_J'ai sombre dans l'anonymat_

_Combattu_

_Le vide et le froid._ _"_

"_Le froid,"_ Morrigan sang, jumping back in cheerfully before letting me take back over.

"_J'aimerais revenir,_

_J' n'y arrive pas_

_J'aimerais revenir..._

_Ooh!"_ I finished, Morrigan's voice lifting to match mine before she continued the chorus. Halfway through, however, she cut herself off as wingbeats filled the air. Looking up, I squinted through the rising suns lights to peer up at the circling form of a French Aerial Patrol, taking in the four middleweights and two lightweights above us.

"That's good, then, isn't it?" Morrigan asked me hopefully. "That means we can rest! I'm awfully tired now, Nory," she added with a sigh as I stroked her head, keeping my wary gaze on what I recognized as the middleweights as being two Papillon Noir and two Pecheur-Raye, and the lightweights as Garde-de-Lyons.

"Perhaps," I agreed quietly as Morrigan jerked a bit, body stumbling as I realized she'd touched the ground.

"Oh, wonderful," she moaned loudly as she pulled forward, the strain of tugging _La Delphine_ much clearer now as she was forced to pull it onto the sand she was on. It would be impossible to pull it onto land, but that was fine. She didn't want to beach the ship, after all, just help the crew and, if the sudden appearance of the French Dragons was anything to note, I had no doubt that someone from the nearest shipyard would be by to help them move _La Delphine_ to the nearest port.

"Do the crew need help getting to land?" Morrigan asked, peering over she shoulders worriedly as I quickly the thick ropes we'd been using to tug the post-ship. "I can ferry some on my back, especially the injured ones!" I smiled tired and stroked a hand over the hard rock-like growth between her horns.

"I shall check for you, alright, sweetling? Give me a moment." Quickly, I padded down the now-exposed length of my Dragons back, stepping over the slippery-looking growths and past the joints of her wings until I was close enough to the ships bow that I didn't have to shout. Captain Bonheur was waiting there for me, and, after I quickly relayed Morrigan's question in my accented French, the man was quickly organizing the injured crew members onto my Dragons back. The Aerial Patrol had landed on the beach, watching us with narrow, wary eyes, all but one of the Garde-de-Lyons, who had swiftly flown away, no doubt to report what was happening.

"Oh, sweet land," Morrigan moaned as she climbed out of the water, carefully spreading her wings and giving them a light shake. She was trembling, the many hours spent swimming exhausting her, and the sudden return to proper weight without the aid of her natural buoyancy had her groaning and staggering a single step before she locked her legs with a wince. "I do not think I can walk much further than this, Nory," she informed me unhappily, carefully lowering herself down with a moan of discomfort. "My muscles are all weak and queer-feeling."

"I should think so, sweetheart," I told her fondly as I sat on her brow, stroking what skin I could reach as I tiredly watched the crewmembers of _La Delphine_ get carefully lowered to the sand, several members of the Papillon Noirs hurrying forward to help expedite the procedure. "You did wonderfully, my dear," I told Morrigan gently, firmly, laying myself down on her head like an upside-down hug, making Morrigan sigh happily as she lowered her head down to the sand to promptly begin dozing. I chuckled and sighed, forcing myself up to start helping move the injured.

If, during that time, I avoided the Papillon's crew and stuck near Captain Bonheur until I could slip under Morrigan's chin to curl against her chest, well, that was my business. I had no doubt the Captain would explain what had happened and, besides, I was twelve.

I needed my sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it! Chapter Two!  
So, really quick: A Reviewer pointed out that they had an issue with both the size of Morrigan's egg and her freshly-hatched self, pointing out Temeraire's own egg and large-dog-sized hatchling-self in comparison. Morrigan's egg and hatchling size have mostly to do with a Headcanon I have for Chequered Nettles, but I'm quickly gonna point out that there IS no specified Egg Size for the more obvious of her cross-breed, and that the Temeraire Wiki states that there are some Dragon eggs that are the size of a full-grown man at the shoulder (I assume these are Regal Copper eggs, but I could be wrong).  
For Morrigan, I made her egg and hatchling size large bc I Headcanon that Nettles are very broad/muscular dragons bc their tails are very heavy. They start out big so that their muscles develop better in order for them to carry the weight of their armored tails better. I tried to find specific information on Nettles, so that I could keep as close to the facts as possible, as well as Morrigan's Fire-Breathing parent, but there is VERY little information on the Wiki about them beyond what we learn about our Canon Crossbreeds.  
Which is that they are heavyweights with armored tails and checker-like patterns, and that they may/may not be/have gold coloring. The "Official" art/reference photos for Nettles on the Wiki show one gold and brown dragon, and two purple and white dragons, and says that all of them are Nettles.  
Anyways, I used a bit of both for Morrigan, giving her dark gold and purple marks, but patterned after her Fire-Breathing parent to a degree, which is also where her horns and black coloring come from.  
Morrigan will be a very heavy dragon, a little shorter than your average Nettle, but keeping well within the heavyweight class. And before anyone complained about giving her Fire-Breathing, I will just go ahead and state that there are NO HW Fire-Breathers outside the Kazilik, and that Morrigan's Fire-Breathing parent was a large Middleweight. And that the crossbreeding has some downsides that will be brought forward later.  
Anyways, tell me what you think! Did I keep them both in character well enough? I hope you enjoyed reading!  
(PS Indila's SOS is a great song and I love it)


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